


Deals in the Dark

by A_Slaaneshi_Typist



Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Slaaneshi_Typist/pseuds/A_Slaaneshi_Typist
Summary: Clan Eshin is contracted to take out the legendary Queek Headtaker, and so they send their very best assassin for the job. When things go wrong however, how will Skitch get out alive?
Kudos: 8





	Deals in the Dark

The Deathmaster skittered across the rocks far above the antechamber, keeping to the shadows and moving himself with all the precision and care in his vast library of skills. Over the ceiling he went, passing quickly through the hall where the warlords of Clan Mors were debating amongst each other both unseen and unheard, and hung, watching, his black-clad body pressed against the dirt stone and dirt of the tunnel.  
As the squeaking angry speech grew in volume, he used the moment of noise to sink the metal spikes he used to climb into the ceiling, and secured himself to stay undetected for a while, listening.  
“No no, we go-go to Pillar-City! Queek kill-slay the hated goblin-things and beard-things, take for great-glory of mighty Clan Mors!” the Headtaker chittered, glaring at his fellow Warlords.  
“NO!” a slightly smaller, angrier Skaven shouted at him, another one of Gnawdell’s generals. “There is plotting-scheming done by Clan Skryre, use beast-things and magic to attack-hurt the western man-things! We must-must press claim to west, ensure Clan Skryre gets no more stronger-mightier than they already are-are!  
“What about order from council, go to Southlands, Warpstone for great scheme?” a third chimed in. “No-no, Southlands already have Clan Eshin, Council have them, no need us, have assassins do what my clanrats wasted on!” Gnawdell squeaked angrily. “Stupid-wrong Grey Seers, think Grey fur make them master of Clan Mors! We do nothing they command.”  
“I have made my choice for command-order. We send small force to Southern Realms, check-see on Clan Skryre doing, offer help, no-no help truthfully, instead, send Eshin Assassin with army, he find what Ikit Claw up to, report back to us-us!”  
He then turned his attention to Queek, nodding and smiling with pride at him. “And my brave-mighty Headtaker, yes-yes, you go back to home under Eight-Peaks. Take mighty hold for Clan Mors, with it we strike-attack all other beard-things and night goblins, destroy-kill them, take all gold and mines, find more warpstone!”  
Queek and the others bowed, and skittered away. How simple it would be to leap down and strike the supreme ruler of Clan Mors right now. To send an entire clan into chaos… he could do it with a single strike of his three blades, but no, that was not what he had been paid to do. Instead as the stormvermin opened the large doors, in the span of but a half second, he swung under the top opening of the door and onto the ceiling as they shuffled through, and followed the Headtaker.  
After a skirmish with a smaller clan that had ended in Queek pissing off quite a few rich Warlords and Grey Seers, Deathmaster Sknitch had been contracted by them to bring the warlords of his contract-holding clan the sword of Queek, and his legendary Dwarf Gouger.  
This was definitely easier said than done, as Queek had killed numerous Eshin agents before, and at this point everyone was sure nobody besides maybe the Deathmaster himself could get the drop on Gnawdell’s legendary Right Claw. When he’d been given the contract, the Deathmaster had felt a lance of excitement inside his rapidly pounding Skaven heart. Finally, a challenge…  
He was mulling over this thought as he snuck along the walls and ceiling of the large tunnels, following Queek, keeping to the shadows, his cloak bunched up around his face and body, tight and black against his fur, to keep as low a profile as possible.  
Finally, Queek reached his quarters, and opened the door, stepping inside, turning to close it, and at that moment, Sknitch took the offensive.  
In a flurry of perfectly executed movements, he was up, against the ceiling, legs tight, like a spring, and flying forward, the entire action was done in less than half a second, and he was upon Queek, who squealed in anger and surprise and rolled backward. As he flew through the door and onto his target, his tail whipped around, slamming the door shut so nobody walking by could look in and see them before he was ready.  
Initially he had planned to stab Queek with the poisoned ring on one of his paws. The leap forward would have afforded him the perfect moment to stab it into him as he pounced, but Queek had turned and in a fraction of an instant, taken a step back on pure instinct. The movement of but a couple inches had taken the ring off target and instead its tip bent and as it had hit the chestplate of his red armor, rendering it useless.  
They were rolling backward, Queek pulling his back talons up and under himself, kicking and sending the legendary assassin flying over him, and at the wall. This moment bought him the time to get to his feet and draw Dwarf-Gouger, and as Sknitch rebounded off the back wall, he leaped down into the center of the room, facing off with the Headtaker. He had his blades in hand, and the third gripped by his tail, circling the Warlord of Eight-Peaks with keen eyes.  
“Ah, so Eshin finally sends-orders its master assassin to kill me-me! I was hoping-expecting you to show up sooner or later, Sknitch, Queek could use your wisdom on trophy-skull rack!”  
The Deathmaster said nothing, only waited for an opening.  
As Queek drew his second weapon, his sword, he saw it.  
A flurry of blades came flying down on Queek, one after the other, right as he drew his sword. The first was turned aside by Dwarf-Gouger, the second, meant for his face, was barely blocked as he turned his head and it clattered off his faceplate. The legendary Stormvermin blocked the one destined for his heart just barely with his newly drawn blade.  
The fight then started in earnest. Both were evenly matched, their slashes, stabs and strikes were faster than man-thing eyes could have followed, constantly blows turning and twisting into different movements, the Skaven style of deception and underhandedness. It went on for what seemed like hours for a Skaven, though in reality was only a couple minutes.  
Queek constantly showered the Deathmaster in curses and insults, mocking his skill, while the assassin, true to his training, remained utterly silent, totally focused.  
The end came when the Deathmaster committed on the wrong blow, and brought both his handheld swords down as his tail knocked Queek off balance. The Stormvermin used his own tail to catch himself and roll sideways and as the stab of his swords followed through, Dwarf-Gouger’s heavy hooked blade struck them, sending the weapons flying. As his tail came to deliver a back-swing, Queek rolled and the cut was turned aside with his own sword, using Dwarf-Gouger to hook around the back of Sknitch’s neck and pull him in close, before pressing his sword against the assassin’s throat. Caught with his neck between the two blades, disarmed, and beaten, his tail froze, and dropped his final weapon. He hesitantly raised his hands.  
“Surrender, surrender! You win-win…” he spat, humiliated.  
“Yes… Queek always win…” Queek whispered, smiling.  
As both their chests rapidly rose and fell, Queek considered his options.  
“You let me go-go… and I ensure Clan Eshin never try to kill you ever again, Sknitch swear-promise!”  
“Hmmm… is good deal-deal, but how I know you won’t betray-lie?”  
“B-Because, Sknitch will give you, oh greatest and strongest Stormvermin of Clan Mors, um… um… hm…”  
“Answer quick or die-die!”  
The idea came to him suddenly.  
“Give you Clan Eshin death contract, and so you have something to show other clans that you survived me!”  
“Why that matter?” the red-armored warlord said, already starting to grow suspicious.  
“Because-because Clan Eshin is dark shadow of terror, Sknitch is the terror of all clans, legendary, never defeated, if Under-Empire know I fail-fail… Clan Eshin lose our mythical status… if-if Queek can beat Deathmaster, why can’t Clan Septik? Clan Riktus? Clan Pestilins? They fear us, keeps in line for-for council…”  
“Yes… yes Queek understands…” the warlord said, nodding.  
“You-you tell no one of this, we never attack you again, deal-deal?”  
For a long moment (long for Skaven, in human terms it was only a couple seconds) Queek pondered this.  
“Deal, but must have one condition.”  
Sknitch frowned. “What you want-want?”  
“Queek grow need, you satisfy, deal, yes?”  
Sknitch was about to ask what this “need” was when he became aware that Queek was giving off the musk of lust in droves, and it was starting to make him feel needy and jittery aswell.  
“You… Sknitch not breeder of Moulder! Why you mate-fuck Sknitch?!” he asked.  
“Queek only mate with Moulder breeders on Gnawdell orders, revolting fat things no good at all, Sknitch tight and strong, worthy to be fuck-toy for almighty Headtaker!”  
He pointed his blade at Sknitch’s thoat.  
“Lay down-down hands up, no move, you move Queek kill.”  
“Yes… as you wish.” the assassin obeyed and laid back on the ground, keeping his hands up above his head, watching Queek carefully, nose twitching. The warlord took off the bottom part of his armor, and his long Skaven cock was sticking out, throbbing pale pink flesh about seven inches long, only around a half inch wide, and dripping fluids. Sknitch wasn’t really ever interested in sex, but the musk of lust was getting to him, and he could feel his own cock throb under his robes. Never breaking eye contact, the warlord carefully took off the Deathmaster’s pants, pulling them down to his ankles, and pulled his shirt up, to get a look at his chest.  
Revealing Sknitch’s tight, toned legs and slick, grey hair growing along the limbs, and his chest was defined with abs you could cut meat on, hard and toned from years of constant use, fuzzy with grey fur. Between his legs a very swollen set of balls and a cock at least around 6 inches, but thick, an inch and a half at least.  
Several bottles of poison and knives slid along the ground as he did so, but with his hands up, the assassin couldn’t try for any of them. Queek knelt, still pointing the sword at him, and spat on his hand a few times before rubbing it up and down on the cock in front of him.  
Sknitch stiffened and groaned, biting his lip. It had been a very, very long time since he’d even thought about sex. Every waking moment was killing, fighting, sneaking, taking missions, it had been quite some time… he squirmed and kicked in Queek’s grip as the warlord slowly made sure every inch was nice and slippery.  
Once he got it nice and moist, he squatted above the Deathmaster and kneeling down, grunting softly as he teased his backside with the tip. He still was looking him in the eye though, still had the blade against his neck, still ready to cut him at any second. The atmosphere was tense, but it made Queek feel hot and excited. So dangerous, the most deadly Skaven anyone had ever heard of, and he had him right here, he was gonna ride his cock to climax and there was NOTHING he could do about it.  
After enough prodding he slowly slid down onto it, letting the shaft spread him open as he sighed. “Mmmm, Deathmaster cock good and big, Queek likes…” he hissed.  
The warmth of his shaft being swallowed up into Queek’s backside made the Deathmaster groan with pleasure, he hissed as he kept his chin raised to avoid the tip off the warlord’s sword nicking his neck, and let the stormvermin use him as he wanted. What was the harm, after all? At least he wasn’t the one taking it.  
After taking Sknitch inside him as deep as he dared, the black-furred warlord began to rise and fall on that nice, thick cock, taking it into him, then all the way back out to the tip, and then back down, nice and steady.  
“Yes-yes, you lay helpless, Queek use you-you… nhh… Queek strong, b-brave-mighty… best of Clan Mors. All Skaven Queek want to fuck, he fuck…” he spoke in ragged breathes, enjoying the feeling of fullness that came with every rise and fall on the Deathmaster’s cock.  
Sknitch was tapping one foot incessantly, clenching his hands as the pleasure radiating through his crotch from the tight vice of the stormvermin’s ass gripping him as he rode sent tingles through his body. He was watching the warlord ride him with careful eyes, and though the Headtaker’s mouth hung open and he was panting with bliss, his eyes were still sharp, staring right into the assassin’s soul, sword ready for any advantage the Deathmaster might try to take while he was preoccupied.  
His tail lashed upwards and under Queek, and he wrapped it around the other Skaven’s cock, jerking him as he rode with expert precision. Sknitch’s tail was very practiced at gripping and holding things, it had to be for his special combat style, and so the way he could work it along the shaft and squeeze, prod and jerk was divinely pleasurable.  
Gradually the warlord increased his speed, riding faster, leaning over the Deathmaster and pressing the sword tighter to his neck, panting as his beady eyes stared the assassin down, daring him to make a move as he fucked himself with that thick, throbbing dick.  
It felt so good, hitting every little spot inside him, rubbing in all the right ways as the Headtaker grumbled with pleasure. He would wring every drop of cum out of Sknitch, he would be putty in his hands, as every Skaven was, before the mighty and powerful Queek Headataker.  
Some may say to ride another Skaven would make him look the bottom, but that was not true, there was nothing more dominant than using him like this. To make his body submit to him was much more satisfying than simply holding them down and fucking them himself while he squirmed and screeched. Any half-wit stormvermin could do that.  
As Sknitch felt his cock squeezed and clenched around by that nice, tight warlord ass, he knew he would be reaching his limit soon, he could feel the tingling feelings of pleasure radiating through his shaft and up his body faster, more intensely, he was going to cum any minute now.  
“Queek, oh great and powerful warlord I-I… Sknitch feel… cum soon-soon…” he moaned.  
“Yes-yes, Queek almost-nearly there, you lay back, not move, only cum-squirt when I am finished, or you die-die!” he hissed, pressing the steel to his throat again.  
Sknitch gulped and nodded.  
The warlord’s movments became quicker, more erratic, he grunted and chittered in bliss as he slammed himself down faster and faster, and knowing he was almost at his limit, Sknitch began to jerk him harder. If he didn’t drive Queek over the edge soon, he wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore.  
It was hard, he was clenching, holding it in, biting his lip till it bled until finally Queek was at his limit and there was no going back.  
His legs shuddered and he gasped, sitting down hard and driving Sknitch’s cock as deep into him as it would go, squirting his thick white ropes of cum all over the assassin’s chest and face, seizing and moaning as the waves of pleasure rolled over him and Sknitch’s tail kept jerking him through the climax.  
As he was climaxing, Sknitch only waited a few seconds before finally letting himself go, sighing with relief as his own balls emptied inside the Headtaker, his shaft throbbing with intense bliss as he poured every last drop into Queek’s tailhole. He didn’t even mind that the stormvermin had made a total mess of his chest and face with his orgasm.  
Even while he had cum, Queek never moved his blade from Sknitch’s throat. He sat like that for about a minute, savoring the feeling of warmth inside him before standing up and letting his ass leak white all over the dirt floor of his burrow.  
He looked back for a moment and in that moment Sknitch grabbed up his leggings and was up and on the ceiling, disappearing into a nearby grate, gone within only a second or two, he took his swords with him, but left the contract, and Queek looked over the paper as he put his lower armor pieces back on, keeping a wary eye out. Sknitch only watched from the back of the air duct for a few moments before leaving.  
He could have taken the contract and left Queek with nothing, but when Clan Eshin makes agreements, unlike most clans, they honor them. Besides… allies in Clan Mors could come in handy.


End file.
